Fight Invitation

[Danny Street - Black Gold Gang Apartment]

Vision gradually cleared.

The first thing that came into John's view was his own prosthetic limbs, made of artificial leather and metal.

"Ugh... Shit."

Warding off the dizziness in his head, he woke up alone on the messy bed.

He hadn't indulged like this in a long time. Recalling what happened last night, it felt as though he had been falling infinitely into pleasure and passion, with flesh rubbing and heating up, and consciousness drowning in desire.

At a certain moment, all the piled-up busyness and death threats in his mind were completely cleared away. Only after the pressure was released did he feel briefly, truly alive.

[Good morning, Eden City, Morning News...]

The broadcaster's emotionless voice echoed from the television.

[A spokesperson for the Plato Corporation announced last night that the recent joint urban anti-terrorism drill with the Eden City Police Department has reached its conclusion, and the crackdown on violent behavior within the urban area will also come to an end. However, regarding the previously filed complaints concerning traffic disruptions and illegal harm, the Plato Corporation maintains a stance of opposition and has not responded to compensation matters...]

John poured himself a cup of coffee.

He operated the louvered window to let the sunlight in, while his optical eye began to blink, sorting through the unread messages in his voicemail.

[Eden Weitz:]

[Tin-Foil sent me some surveillance footage; you got beaten up pretty badly at the Electronic Vein bar. To be honest, well, it's a bit embarrassing. You won't get far relying solely on the rigid movements of a chip; brawling and combat are two different things. Drop by the corporate training room when you have time. The footage isn't complete, but reply to me if you're not dead yet. If your injuries are too severe, I'll have someone pick you up for treatment at the corporate medical bay. It's a paid service, but much more cost-effective than the ripperdoc dens outside.]

John pursed his lips.

He conceded Eden's assessment of him.

It was only after fighting Hoffman that he realized how awesome Eden truly was—the guy could string together and take down elite fighters cultivated by gangs, which certainly didn't rely merely on chips and cybernetic strength.

Eden was a responsible corporate boss.

He had been quite righteous toward John. Although John held the title of an external contractor, to be honest, if John were ever beaten to death on the streets, it would have nothing to do with Safe Haven whatsoever.

Yet the man was willing to give him a hand.

John knew how to be grateful as well.

[Side Quest: Specialization]

[Reward: Melee Combat Chip (Unknown)]

[Quest Objective Updated:]

[Pass the Safe Haven Corporation Training. (Uncompleted)]

John finished reading the quest information.

Before heading out, he still needed to pack his equipment. He first took out the monomolecular katana, washed away the residual bloodstains, and performed a simple maintenance.

The dark-blue blade slid into its scabbard.

The pitch-black alloy grip.

John hung it in the middle of the pegboard, where, set against the LED strip lights, it possessed the aesthetic of a masterwork weapon collection.

A custom blade from Hagiwara Industries was certainly top-tier.

However, to truly unlock its potential, he needed to assemble an entire systematic set of cyberware—powerful muscle bundles, sub-dermal armor, a titanium skeleton, a special operating system, and a neural conductor.

***

John had checked the prices of the corresponding cyberware.

He could scrape them together if he forced it.

But as Macao had said, if he was going to upgrade his gear, he didn't want to slice open his body over and over again for cheap junk.

Suddenly, while in deep thought, he received a call.

[Unknown Contact]

A window popped up in the upper left corner of John's field of vision.

On the screen was a girl with hay-like hair and a jacket, standing with her arms crossed and laughing.

[Good god, it really is your number.]

"Did I get roped into some drinking game?"

John picked up his coffee and took a sip.

[I'm from the Damascus Camp. We ran into some trouble recently, but Alona isn't back yet, so I thought of you.]

"Nando didn't call me."

[He's busy arguing with people, running off his feet—when would he have time to handle minor troubles like this? You're quite cautious, aren't you? Got thoroughly screwed over by city folks, huh? Don't worry, this isn't a phone sex scam. Come over to the camp, and we'll explain everything clearly.]

John felt quite helpless.

"I need a baseline first. If I can't help out, there's no need for me to make a trip out of the city."

The girl's face practically spelled out straightforwardness.

[Brawling with the Exiles, you in? Iron-Foot Kunbu has been getting way too arrogant lately, bringing his pack of dogs to snatch our resources. If this job succeeds, whatever good loot we get, you get first pick!]

"Alright, you've piqued my interest."

[That's the spirit! Drive your hypercar over. I wasn't home last time they worked, but they talked your driving skills up to the heavens—let me witness it for myself.]

"I have no objections. At least tell me your name; who should I look for when I arrive?"

[Damn, my pig brain. Talia. Just drop my name when you get here, and it'll work. I won this number from Screwdriver in a drinking contest, so don't you dare block me, or I'll take a massive loss!]

The video call hung up.

[Quest: Crispy on the Outside, Tender on the Inside]

[Reward: Bounty, Sub-dermal Armor (Plato)]

John raised an eyebrow.

The quest reward tempted him somewhat; sub-dermal armor was indeed more important than a combat chip, meaning his plan to train at Safe Haven would have to be put on hold.

John retrieved the smart rifle from the weapon rack and stuffed a few electromagnetic magazines into his bag.

He left the apartment and walked through the elevated open-air level.

Gilead was sitting in his usual spot.

"Having fun? There are plenty of pretty girls on Danny Street. If you haven't had your fill, I've got a few good channels, you know... You're the big shot who took down Hoffman; you shouldn't treat yourself poorly."

"Next time."

"Alright, go handle your business."

***

Gilead bumped fists with him in farewell, crossed his arms, and continued keeping watch at the apartment entrance, planning to hit a set on the bench press whenever he got bored.

The Silver Knight had already been fully repaired.

John drove out of the basement.

The roar of the hypercar echoed outward.

From the crowded inner ring road to the suburban highway, the scenery outside the window constantly shifted.

Once Plato's antics concluded, the urban checkpoints reverted to looking like mere decorations. With no corporations involved, a simple scan by the scanner would grant passage; even if you were actually carrying contraband, slipping a funding card into the prosecutor's office would get you through.

Vroom—

John slammed on the gas, tuned the radio to the nostalgia channel, cranked the volume to the max, and watched familiar yellow dirt and drought-resistant plants blur past the window.

He was practically getting used to driving this road.

[Eden City - Damascus Camp]

John's Silver Knight 577 was extremely recognizable.

Yet the guard at the entrance still had to follow the rules, first guiding it to the checkpoint, rolling down the window, and handing over a pack of traditional cigarettes.

"Hey, John, try some Cuban goods."

"Thanks, man."

"Puff~ Alona isn't back yet. Just drive straight past the tents and you'll find Nando. Big event today—need a tent to crash for the night?"

"Talia said she has a job for me."

"Ah, that chick is definitely dragging you into a fight. Hope you brought a gun. Let me tell you, Screwdriver managed to get his hands on a cargo pickup, modified it to look like a damn presidential suite."

"Not bad. I'll have to go check it out. Wait, these are Golden Apple cigarettes—did you guys go picking up side gigs recently?"

"Legitimate business, hahaha."

The sentry laughed as he pulled up his respirator, wearing a bulletproof tactical vest and insulated gloves, clutching an extended sniper rifle.

Data streams flashed across his sunglasses.

The isolation bollards at the checkpoint sank into the ground, revealing a passageway.

"Talia is behind the base station; her trailer is the biggest one there. If the driver's seat is empty, go knock on the iron container next to it—she's probably passed out drunk, sawing logs."

The sentry pointed John in the direction.

Inside the camp, things were as busy as a construction site; the number of tents and RVs had surged dramatically, giving off the feeling of a developing small town.

The engine roar of the Isenberg hypercar drew everyone's attention. Beneath the camp's sunshades, many people at the small tables turned their heads to watch.

John grabbed his bag and left the parking lot.

He pulled up his dustproof neck gaiter, raised his chin, and saw a massive yellow crane behind the camp base station stretching up into the sky.